


Just a Stranger in My Own Life

by annieke



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-04 14:32:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annieke/pseuds/annieke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny's not sure what has happened to his life. Yesterday was perfect; today he's a basket case, and it's all Steve's fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Stranger in My Own Life

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Steve/Danno Spring Fling 2012 
> 
> For the prompt by zortified: Danny sees or overhears something and mistakenly concludes that Steve and Catherine are a serious item, not realising that Steve loves him. Misunderstandings and angst ensues; happy ending please. 
> 
> ***  
> I had no idea when I started that this prompt was going to go in this direction or take this many words to get there (and here I was planning on a fic a third this size) 
> 
> Many thanks to iam_space for her honest, colorful and lightning quick beta--you have great skillz, babe.  
> ***  
> Angst. OMC (really, he's kind of just an innocent bystander). A scene toward the end that isn't non-con, but starts with that intensity.

'Danny Williams,' he thinks, congratulating himself on having so much clarity of inner self-awareness, 'you are just one dumb ass.'"

With that, he toasts himself at the bar, letting the last tiniest drops of beer roll into his mouth as he contemplates the bottom of that now drained glass and the ruin that is his so-called life.

Figures he'll get another because being him is shit at this point and not looking to get any better any time soon, and what else does he have to do then but sit at a bar surrounded by strangers and get totally shit-faced.

Because fuck Steve McGarrett. Fuck him. Fuck Steve. Fuck his feelings. Which, seriously? Is the heart of the problem here, anyway. 

He has feelings. Steve does not. 

At least not for him.

Right? Right?

Hell to the fucking yeah, right.

So fuck Steve and fuck his own gullible stupidity, too, because he truly is One. Dumb. Ass.

He looks around to get a refill; the place is crowded, the bartender having moved away, busy serving patrons who stand three deep waiting to get a drink on a Saturday night. He's lucky to have a stool to sit upon, and the thing that really galls him most about his being in this obnoxious setting--he truly hates this kind of place.  
Avoids them like the plague. Apparently, he has now developed truly masochistic tendencies while living on this island.

It is too loud, too crowded, too damned hot and he should just get up and leave--but his brain is numb and fried and clearly only participating in life by half, and he's much too drained to make any sort of rational decision at this point. Besides, he figures, he blends right in: Tourists. Everywhere. _Haoles_. The perfect place to hide when you want to duck out from the world as you know it. When you want to hide from your own pathetic life.

A quick elbow to his back has him half sprawling onto the bar, the barely heard, "Hey, sorry, man," faint apology trailing after whomever is squeezing past him.

Okay. So maybe this place wasn't the best move. Maybe he has had about enough. It's been a miserable enough night without subjecting himself to the brightly dressed, overly happy tourist crowd in here. Shoulder to shoulder tight, the place is almost as bad as the bars back home.

Couple dollars thrown onto the bar, he moves to leave, a warm body already sliding onto his barely vacated barstool. When he turns to part his way though the throng of bodies, a hand wrapping around his upper arm stops him.

"Wait, don't tell me you're leaving?"

"What?" He turns to find a handsome face staring out at him from the guy who took his seat. Large, warm, dark eyes watch him. 

"And here, I just arrived," the man says. The hand then releases him, fingertips hesitating just a second longer than they should as they trail off his arm. Rich brown eyes stare him down, the faint trace of a smile gracing the guy's mouth. "Shame."

Danny turns to the guy. What the hell? "Uh, I don't think--do I know you?"

A hand and warm grin come his way again, and he can honestly admit that there's a part of him that melts a little inside. It's been a hell of a long time since he's been hit on so blatantly. Which feels so wrong and yet, at this precise moment, may be exactly what he needs.

"Hunter."

"Hunter, really," he states flatly, because yeah, that in no way is the guy's real name--who the hell is named Hunter?-- and so he improvises a bit, shakes the guy's hand and comes up with the not so clever: "Daniel."

"Daniel. Not Dan or Dann--"

"No. Nope. Just Daniel." Because right now, Daniel is who he is and Danny is who he so doesn't want to be any more.

"Well, Daniel. It's nice to meet you." Invitation offered . . . 

"Likewise. Hunter." And invitation accepted.

For a drink or two anyway, he thinks.

An hour and two and a half more beers with Hunter later, and Danny feels better than he has all damned day. So maybe this Hunter with the handsome face and warm eyes and light conversation is just what he needs to erase everything else that's dark-haired, six-foot-huge and insane taking up space in his head.

They're sharing a plate of pot stickers at a table outside--and poke, but Danny's having none of that--and he realizes he hasn't thought about Steve for at least the last 15 minutes.

"So, business in Hawaii, huh?"

Hunter nods, beer dangling from two fingers as he lets the bottle drop onto the table. "Yeah. Not so bad, right? Getting to Hawaii on a business trip." He signals the waitress for another round. Danny doesn't tell him any differently, even though he's already rocking a pretty good buzz. "I go into meetings come Monday morning--but I flew out yesterday, so tonight and tomorrow are all mine."

Danny nods. He's really feeling those beers now, doesn't much care. It feels good to let the image of Steve from earlier fade away for a while, get out of his head. God knows he'll be fixating again soon enough once he starts thinking clearly, and so he lets himself fall into the distracting warmth of Hunter's eyes and the rhythm of his voice as the man explains what he's doing here on this island of paradise.

Hunter is playing with the condensation rings on the table. "Listen, Daniel. I don't mean to be presumptuous at all, but I can say I'm really very attracted to you. Figure you wouldn't still be sitting here with me if you didn’t feel at least some of the same."

Which, okay. Yeah. That's true as much, although it's a fairly blurry line that's delineating the separation between all out attraction and his own yearning to forget. Forget Steve. Forget that life as he thought he knew it isn't actually his life at all.

He thought there'd been so much more between him and Steve-- something exciting and new and solid. Stable. Which, okay, he should know better as Steve and stable just don't belong in the same sentence, but still. He thought they had a beginning, the start of something so good and that they were going forward together. As a couple, together.

He shoots a glance at Hunter. The guy's leaned back in his chair, relaxed, legs crossed and looking at him. Right at him. Lord, he's made some idiotic choices in his life--

Which this may very well be; he hasn't had a bar pick-up since first moving to the island, and even then only few and far between. Once he met Steve, once he realized he'd fallen for Steve, that he wanted Steve, well, the desire for the occasional blow job from a stranger pretty much ended.

Still, the guy--Hunter--seems nice enough. Is freakishly attractive, too, which isn't a hardship, and isn't helping with the whole situation of should he or shouldn't he, either. Neither is the fact he's had enough to drink to throw wise decision-making right out the window. Wouldn't be difficult to slip out of his head and into this guy's space for a night. Forget Danny and Steve. Forget promises that mean shit. Forget his life.

He smiles. "So Mr. Here-on-Business-with-a-Free-Weekend, what, exactly, are you suggesting?" 

He likes the look of the full smile that quickly fills pretty much all of Hunter's features.

**

They decide from the get-go that staying fairly anonymous to one another works well--no need to get into any sort of details about life. Danny figures enough said on his not only being a cop, but being one of Hawaii's elite task force has no bearing on this part of his life, anyway. Besides, the less he has to think about Steve, the better he can tamp down the feelings of guilt that keep trying to rise up and be noticed. Like he should give them any sort of consideration, anyway.

It sure wasn't like Steve had been bothered by those feelings.

Hunter's staying at one of the many small no-frills hotels that dot the area; cheap by Hawaii standards given the amount of higher priced resort hotels around, and it all works just fine with Danny. 

The motel is small but clean, the queen bed pretty much filling the middle of the room and standing out like a beacon in the night.

Danny's not totally drunk, but is feeling no pain, either, as he stumbles in behind Hunter.

Hunter, who is tall like Steve, with broad shoulders and large hands and light brown wavy hair that shines under the soft incandescent light--and large, honey eyes that are now focusing right on Danny's lips.

He's not complaining. The kiss is good, different, slower than he thought Hunter would go for, and although not quite like when he and Steve kiss, never like when he and Steve kiss--when he and Steve are connected with hands--and oh, Jesus, he needs to quit thinking of Steve. Get the sonofabitch out of his head. Isn't that wholly why he's here?

Hunter pulls away, turning toward the closet. "Hey, I have some beer I bought, if you want another. There's also a mini-fridge here, if you can believe it in a place this small. So, hold on--there's wine, mini-liquors of pretty much any kind." He holds up a can and turns it slowly. "Coconut water?"

Danny laughs as he shifts to sit on the bed. "Yeah. My daughter loves that stuff. Can't say I'm a fan. I'll take a beer, though."

Hunter hands him the beer, features drawing into a small frown. "Daughter?"

"She's almost nine."

"Uh, Daniel. Tell me you're not one of those married guys who--"

He shakes his head. "No, no. My ex-wife moved out here with her new husband. I followed to be near my girl. So, no. Not married. Not--not for a long time." And probably never again, he thinks. Not with Rachel. Sure as shit not with Steve.

Hunter gives him a long look, measuring him somewhat, then moves to sit next to him on the bed where he takes Danny's beer and sets it on the end table. He shifts closer, thigh to thigh, and Danny's trying hard not to think too much on what's lead him here to this exact point in time. Trying hard not to think of whose hands he'd rather have on him, trying to concentrate on just feeling the here and now, when Hunter is suddenly pulling sharply back with a laugh.

"There's something happening in your pants, and while I might be flattered, I'm not sure it's at all because of me."

"Sorry," Danny offers and stands to pull his phone from his pocket. It's been vibrating off and on most of the evening. Steve, he thinks, but hasn't wanted to check. He'd turn it off completely except for the worry that Chin might have to get a hold of him. 

He'd sent a text to Chin telling him to contact him if there were any sort of emergency. Had texted him that he was having problems receiving contact from Steve which, really, was as truthful a statement he could offer given the circumstances. He didn't want any contact from Steve. Ever. Chin didn’t need to know those details.

So when he hits ignore and checks, there are no less than half a dozen calls from Steve. Couple of voicemails, too, but he isn't going to dive into any of those now.

"Sorry," he says softly. Sorry for himself, for what's happened. He then turns to this man who is going to let him forget who he is for a while.

**

"It's fine, Chin. I'm fine. Really. Great, even. No, I don’t give a shit what you tell Steve. Thanks for checking." 

"Everything okay?" 

Hunter is standing in the bathroom doorway, drying his hands on a hand towel and looking warm and sure and free of baggage.

Danny smiles, and tosses the corner of the blankets back in invitation. "Yeah. Everything's great."

He lets Hunter's hands slip around his body, lets their legs intertwine and lets himself be pulled in until they are sandwiched together. Hands roam his body, and he can't contain the moan that escapes when lips find that sensitive spot he has under his jaw.

He wasn't lying to Chin. Not really. He is great. Everything is great. Great. Wonderful. Goddamn rose-colored fucking fabulous.

When his phone buzzes again, and again he sees that it's Steve, he hits ignore and slams it face down on the nightstand.

Hunter pushes up to one elbow, gazing down at him and Danny knows what he's going to ask. He raises a hand in a whirly spin. "It's--ah, complicated."

Hunter's fingers trace a soft line down his chest, fingers twirling around in his hair there. "Complicated as in ex-wife complicated? Or . . ."

If only it was just that. Yes, Rachel and he are getting along better now, for that he is grateful; he doesn't want to get into the complications that are now his life with Steve. Without Steve. Whatever the hell it now isn't with Steve.

When Danny doesn't say anything in response, Hunter lets his hand drop away. "You're right. It's none of my business. Figure, though, this complication is the reason you're here for fun with me."

"Yeah," Danny allows on a half-laugh that doesn't feel funny. Hunter's eyes are full of kindness when he looks up at him. "Yeah. Sorry."

"Don't be. Not like we even really know each other, although I can't say I haven't been enjoying the hell out of meeting you, Daniel. This has been a nice night."

"Me, too." And he does feel that way. Hunter's attractive, intelligent. Seems to have a stable and, more importantly--completely sane--head on his shoulders. Has a great body, too, which Danny can't say didn't tip the scales in his favor. Plus, he's been a great distraction. "Not ex-wife troubles. More like…hell, I don't even know what we are."

Hunter brushes a finger down his cheek. "Are. Are as in, are still together?"

Which gives Danny's stomach a turn. "No. I don't know. I don't think so--not really. Not now. Actually, I don't guess we ever really were."

"Hold on. 'Not now'--so I'm your distraction from the break up? Your 'get shit-faced and get laid' distraction?"

Danny's laugh is genuine this time, and it feels good. "The perfect distraction, actually." He pulls Hunter down to him, letting the man's tongue take a dive into his own mouth, then shifts away again and lets go a long, drawn out sigh.

"You want to talk about it, maybe?"

"No--"

"Not like I have any stake in it to judge, Daniel. Not like I know either one of you. Might help. I can be a good listener." Hunter's hands are busy stroking lightly up and down his thigh. "Among other things."

So Danny tells him. Doesn’t know why, just starts talking.

Hunter raises a hand. "No names, if you don't want."

"When I met him--"

"Him?"

"Well, yeah."

Hunter laughs. "You know, I was kind of expecting a her--I mean, you were married--"

"Well, yeah--but then, look. You are a 'him'."

"True. True. Okay, go on."

"Anyway, he pissed me off almost as much as I was insanely attracted to him."

Key word here being insane, Danny thinks. When he met Steve he was simultaneously so attracted and so incredibly pissed off, he was pretty sure his brain was going to suffer an internal melt down.

Over the weeks of them working together, the lust-filled part of his brain not only took over, it forced the rest of his head and body to follow along accordingly, until the shit hit the fan one late night after an exhausting and draining case, and both he and Steve ended up pawing each other enough to realize they were both feeling the same mutual total mind and body fuck.

It had been spectacular.

"Explosive, I take it."

Danny nods, remembering. Smiling. "Shit, yeah. Like--I don't know. Like something you read about. He can still cheese me off enormously, though."

"You all sound like a bad romance novel."

"It's fucked, that's true--but in a good way. Or--what used to be good. I thought it was getting good--Now it's just fucked."

As more weeks had passed, the passion between them ignited and flared.

Danny couldn't believe this was happening to him. While he was never the straight and narrow type, he hadn't engaged in a meaningful relationship with another man this way.

He'd had two long-term relationships with girlfriends--and a short-lived one with Vinnie from Brooklyn Heights--and then married life. Marriage to Rachel had been good, at least the first couple years. But they were young, and after a while they both knew they were only staying together for Grace. Finally, it just crumbled in a massive break-up. Rachel had stormed away, taking Grace with her, and Danny had collapsed in a drunken heap at the feet of his brother, who managed to piece him back together over the months.

After that, he didn’t want a relationship with anyone.

So while he'd always been fairly open about his attraction to both men and women, he'd never invested more than a fleeting relationship with a man before.

Until Steve. 

"So you and this guy, you are serious."

"Yeah--no. I mean, I thought--" Foolishly thought, he tells himself. Thought Steve actually loved him. Loved him, when in actuality, he was just--what? An outlet? Someone to fill in the gaps between ports-of-call visits?

"Keep going, Daniel. I'm kind of intrigued."

Even then, with Steve, he'd had to take things ultra slow--for his own sanity as diving into another relationship had him feeling skittish. Especially given the ramifications of Steve being a) a man and b) a man who was also his boss. Then there was Grace.

Grace loved Steve. Adored him. So for Danny to commit himself to Steve, that commitment would also include his daughter, and he had to make absolutely sure that any road taken was the exact road he wanted to travel.

He and Steve sure as shit did click physically, though, Jesus.

Steve had been after him about spending even more time with him, like they weren't together all day as it was. Always wanted to have him come over, even hinted around them living together: 'Your place is such a grade-A shit-hole hovel, Danny. I have so much extra room. Extra bedroom for Grace.'

And the ass-kicker: "You know you want to, Danny. You can't stand the thought of not being with me."

Which, yeah. Hell, yeah--to have Steve all day and all night. Every day and every night--

And yes, Steve had sported that wry grin when he said it, but deep down, for Danny, it was the truth.

Yes, he did want. Wanted so badly. Ached for it--and also, no. He didn’t want. 

It scared him. 

"And I don’t scare easily."

Hunter laughs. "I can imagine."

Steve was good about not pressing, had been keeping silent on the spending all their free time together thing, on the moving in and making things more permanent basis thing, and for that, Danny was grateful. 

Danny had figured the next step would be to tell the public--at least, their families. Feel out how work might react. He needed time to think on it all, unravel the complications of that sort of exposure. Figure out how to explain to Grace. How to explain to Rachel--

But all in all, yeah. They were getting very serious.

He thought.

"So this morning, I decided that, yeah. Maybe spending more time together would be a good thing--ramp up being a couple. Make it public--at least to our families. Maybe even move in with him."

"Okay, so this all sounds great as of this morning which," Hunter glances at the clock by the bed, "was only just a few hours ago." He scoots closer, fingers strumming lightly across Danny's leg. "What happened?"

Danny laughs. "What happened? Pretty much a punch in the face happened, that's what. Like when I first met him."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Well, yeah, but I was the one who punched him after he put me in an armlock."

"Wait, seriously?'' Hunter's giving him that look. "You guys really are a bad movie."

Danny waves him off. He's heard all this before. "Anyway, what happened is Catherine. She's beautiful. And of the female persuasion."

"Ah, yeah, Daniel. Name kinda tipped me off to her being a woman."

Which really, was a big part of the problem. The woman part. "Thing is, I kind of knew about her, although we never really discussed their relationship. He led me to believe they were over--or at least not that serious. Or something. Hell. I don't know. I don't even remember what my own brain did with that information--maybe I just made it all up. Maybe I have this all mixed up with someone else's life."

"Not over, I take it?''

Danny's head is reeling. Too much beer, too much everything. "No. They're--I don’t know." He pauses, eyes staring at the ceiling and looking for answers to questions he hasn't even thought of yet. "I don't think so. Not after what I saw. What I overheard."

"Which was--"

Fingers pinch the bridge of his nose for a second. This hurts to actually voice aloud. "I saw them. Together." He interlaces his fingers across the sheets, covering his abdomen. "They looked--happy. In love. I don't know--"

Hunter rubs a hand along his shoulder, Danny feeling the soft press of comfort in the move. "I'm sorry, Daniel."

"Yeah."

"Of course, you don't know for sure what they were saying."

Now his stomach turns and something clenches hard deep down in his chest. "He told her he loved her."

"You heard him?"

"I heard him." He shifts, blinking back the dust that's suddenly in his eyes, making them water, clouding his vision. "They were with another couple, all sitting at an outside café, eating breakfast. Drinking champagne. He had hold of her hand."

"They didn't see you?''

"No--the place was mobbed with tourists, and they were angled away from where I was walking." And, he thought, too into each other to bother to notice anyone else. "She said something to him I didn’t hear, then he smiled--took her hand, looked at it, looked at her--told her he loved her. That he wanted everything she wanted. Always. Then he kissed her."

"So you didn't say anything to them?"

He can see them now, the back of Catherine with her hair down, a sliver of Steve's face as he was turned toward her--the other older couple beaming at them. 

He feels queasy. "No, they never saw me. I left."

"Daniel. I'm sorry."

"Yeah." Danny turns away again--that ceiling is mighty interesting. He's angry and lost. He'd heard their voices, hers a soft whisper, and Steve's sounding so earnest. There definitely was love in the air surrounding them. God, they'd all shared a champagne toast. That was when he'd left.

After that, he'd gone to a bar as well. He hadn't cared that it was so early. By the time he'd made it back to his 'hovel', it was so late and he was so whisky-induced tired that he'd pretty much passed out on his bed for four solid hours. Got up, ate something, he wasn't sure, then headed to the tourist bar for a repeat of this morning. Except for the Hunter factor.

Which still had him pushing away guilty feelings. He shouldn't be feeling them; Steve sure didn't.

What did it even mean? How could Steve in one breath ask him to be with him, and in the other ask Catherine to be his always?

He and Steve had been together--he hadn't made that up. Had he read more into it than was there? Clearly.

It's as if he's a stranger in his own life.

He'd gotten this so, so wrong.

He shifts forward, sitting up with elbows to his knees. When Hunter pulls him back, wraps his hands around him and leans his chin against Danny's ear, he knows he just wants to forget.

"Stay with me," Hunter whispers. "Stay with me the rest of the night. Tomorrow, even. I don't have to be anywhere until Monday morning. Let me help you forget all this, Daniel, at least for a little while."

Danny turns into him, and whispers, "Yes."

**

Monday morning comes early. Hunter is packing up to move to one of the resort hotels provided by his job, and Danny needs to get to his place to change for work.

"Daniel, I--"

Danny looks at him, a warm feeling filling him as he takes in the man's face. Another time, another place, maybe. "Thank you," he says, sticking out his hand, knowing that it's stupid and awkward and inadequate--

Hunter wraps him into a tight embrace. "I adored every minute of being with you."

"Yeah," Danny tells him and honestly feels it. "I did, too." He pulls the man down to him, their kiss deep and lasting. A shade of possibilities if circumstances and timing had been different.

Another life, Danny thinks. 

He leaves then, the motel door closing and locking behind him with a sharp snick. With a visible shake, he heads to his car and back to reality.

When he checks his cell phone, there are 13 calls from Steve.

**

He's into the office early and answering email when he senses Steve's presence at his door. The man's arms are crossed and his jaw is set firm and if Danny could figure out what the hell kind of odd tone it is in Steve's voice, he'd for sure be nominated to win detective of the year.

As it stands, he's not sure he can ever figure out anything about this man.

"I called you," Steve says. 

"I saw."

"All weekend, Danny. I called all weekend."

"Again. I saw."

Steve's eyes are fixed and hard. "Where were you? I was worried."

"I was out."

He isn't going to say more. There isn't anything more to say, not here, anyway, and part of him wonders how much Catherine must have hated Steve abusing the phone when Chin rounds the corner and announces, "They're here."

"Who's here?" Danny asks. Has no clue.

"The governor," Chin explains with a slight nod. "With entourage."

"We're going to breakfast," Kono adds as she bounds up behind Chin. "Aw, Danny. You already ate--"

Danny lets the last of his malasada fall to his desk where it lands with a sugary plop. Sure enough, the governor and what looks like half her staff is parading through their offices.

"Commander McGarrett," she greets. "Sorry about the sudden change in plans, but as you know, the Congressman from Washington and his staff are here to learn about a few of our policies and procedures. I know you'll have plenty of knowledge to impart." She glances at all of them, then at her watch. "We're heading to meet them for breakfast now. And Steve, if you don't mind, I'd like you to ride with me so we can go over a few things before we meet up with them."

Which solves the problem of Danny having to deal with Steve for now. He turns to Chin, the question mark hanging over his head probably very evident. "Congressman from Washington--as in DC?"

"No, brah. As in the state." Chin shakes his head as they head to the car. "If you'd have picked up your phone, you'd have known this was happening." He brushes away crumbs from Danny's tie. "Breakfast meeting and all."

"No, Chin, see--Danny's not taking Steve's calls these days," Kono states with such obvious matter-of-factness that Danny's pretty sure he's gaping. "They're fighting."

"How is it you seem to think you know everything there is to know around here?"

She points to her head. "I don't seem to know, brah; I do know. I have ears and eyes. Besides, not like you and the boss are all over subtle when it comes to each other. I know something is going on."

"Subtle? Not subtle? I am subtle. I'll have you know I'm the master of subtlety." Not like he and Steve were ever making out in the back office, for God's sake. They were discreet. They've been nothing but subtle.

"Okay, really?" She's smirking at him, eyes laughing, and then Chin shakes his head and it's all Danny can do to keep his eyes on the road once they've piled into his car.

"Don't go there, brah. Trust me. You and Steve are not always subtle. And Kono, here, sees all."

Danny points to the limo sedan in front of them. "No, see. He's not subtle. But me? I'm--"

"Not at all subtle. What's up with you two, anyway?"

"Kono--" Chin admonishes with a finger slashing across his throat motion. "Cut it."

Kono points back to him and huffs. "Fine. But okay, that--not subtle."

Danny is relieved since the last thing he really wants is to be the focus of any sort of conversation. Bad enough he's about to have to face Steve at breakfast; he can only hope that he'll be seated at the other end of the table. Far at the other end.

Which doesn't happen, because the universe has it out for him.

He, Chin and Kono walk in on the heels of the governor and her select staff, Steve trailing them, and Danny finds himself jockeying for position around the table as they all move to sit.

The Congressman and his staff arrive just after, so they're all milling around in a crowd and he does his best to keep his distance from Steve.

It's like a bad play on musical chairs, and when the music stops, Steve is seated right across from him at the table. 

How the hell?

Worse--and yes, Danny thinks, just when he figured nothing could get any worse--the universe fucks with him again. It gets oh, so much worse. The Congressman and his accompanying staff move to sit, the crowd parts and there, right there: there is Hunter.

Hunter of the big hands and warm eyes. Hunter: his weekend fling. Big as life and, now that the clear look of total surprise has left the man's face, grinning softly.

He's also, as it turns out, part of the Congressman's press advisory staff.

He sits to Danny's right. Steve sits across from him. 

The triangle pattern here is not lost on him.

He wonders if it's too early for a shot of tequila?

The governor makes brief introductions around the table, she and the congressmen then sit and engage their end of the table at the same time Hunter holds his hand out to Chin, Kono and Steve and introduces himself "Hi. I’m Hunt Phillips."

So Hunter is his real name. He would have lost that bet.

"Unusual name there, Hunt," Kono offers brightly.

"Little different," Chin adds, agreeing.

"Yeah, my parents were enamored with some of the more off the beaten path names. Kono and Chin."

"Hey, hey, hey. Kono is not that off the path over here."

"You know, I think I would have liked the name Lance," Chin adds with that face that reveals nothing until he starts grinning madly, cheekbones soaring.

Danny--Danny's trying to laugh. Really. Trying to keep things light and moving. Trying not to look directly at anyone, most especially trying not to look at Hunter. Hunt. Or Steve. God. 

"And this is Detective Danny Williams," Steve says, nodding to Hunter and giving off, in Danny's estimation, a particularly weird vibe. It takes him a long beat to realize that Hunter introduced himself only to Steve, Kono and Chin, and had left him out with just a nod in greeting the first time around.

"Danny, is it? Yeah, I like that," Hunter says then, giving him that warm grin.

Danny wishes the man would stop smiling. Wishes Steve would stop watching him smiling. Wishes Hunter would not look at him, or Steve at Hunter and then him. Wishes everyone would just stop doing whatever it is they're doing.

Is wishing for the world to swallow him up too much to ask?

"So, how do you like Hawai'i so far?" Kono asks, and Danny offers her up a silent thank you.

"They just got in late last night," Chin says. "Haven't seen much yet, right?"

"Actually," Hunter begins and Danny can feel his heart rev like it's sitting in the number one slot at Indianapolis because he knows, just knows what is coming. Oh, God. "I came out early. Been here all weekend."

Kono's back to smiling away like she hasn't a care in the world. Like Danny isn't slowly coming apart next to her, his insides unraveling and churning like fire inside his gut. 

"That's so great! So, did you get to see some sites? Get a feel for the island?"

And now Hunter is also just grinning away. "Oh, yeah. I got a great feel."

If there truly is a volcano on this island, why isn't it erupting? Like now?

He hasn't missed the fact that Steve keeps looking at Hunter. Then at him--back and forth in tennis match fashion and for no earthly reason, either. The man is just being annoyingly perceptive, and it's all Danny can do to keep his attention glued to the bottom of his water glass.

Not like Steve has any reason to think he and Hunter know one another. Certainly isn't that Steve has any rights to that info anyway.

The fucker.

When the Governor stands and says, "Commander McGarrett, if you wouldn't mind giving an overview of the kind of work your team does and what you have accomplished these past few months," he feels such a surge of relief flow through him that he almost groans aloud.

Steve starts to stand, saying, "Five-O has given the island of Oahu a strong sense of security--"

Kono softly jokes as an aside to only them, "As we leave chaos and mayhem in our wake."

"Hey," Chin protests.

"Remember," Danny adds with a finger pointing to Hunter, "this guy deals with the press. Don’t be giving him any ideas."

"Don't worry, Daniel," Hunter says with a laugh. "Your secrets are safe with me."

**

"Daniel."

"Steve.”

It's just the two of them in the car now. His car. Just Steve and him as the governor was heading on to other appointments with the congressman and his staff, and Kono and Chin hitched a ride back to work with her staff--after Steve told them to, he'd bet.

“No. He said, ‘Daniel.’”

“Okay, I’m not sure—“

“'Daniel', Danny.”

He turns to Steve then. “Are you purposely trying to be this incredibly annoying?”

Steve’s angular face is staring at him. “You know him.”

"Wait—what--and please: eyes on the road, if you don’t mind."

They aren’t, though. On the road. Steve’s staring at him best he can given the fact he’s maneuvering a two ton vehicle through fairly heavy traffic, and Danny doesn’t want to meet those eyes. Breakfast is sitting very heavily in his stomach.

“He called you Daniel.”

Oh, God.

“He looked at you like he knew you. And then he called you Daniel.”

He loosens his tie, suddenly feeling very flush, and chances a glance over to Steve. The man’s mouth is set firm, Danny knows this look of determination. One way or another, words will be said. This is going to be a bumpy ride.

“In fact, he looked at you like he knew you. Well.”

Okay, now that is ridiculous. “What are you asking me here, Steve?”

Now Steve is staring out the front windshield, not meeting his eyes at all. “Where were you all weekend, Danny?” he asks, adding, “Or is it Daniel now?”

Which pisses him off. Wasn’t like he was the first one to move on.

“No, Danny’s pretty much it. Yeah. Tell me, though. How’s Lt. Rollins--Catherine--doing these days?”

Steve does slide a look to him then, and Danny feels some satisfaction that he put that surprised grimace on Steve's face. Yeah, he thinks. I can play this, too.

“She's fine, actually. And you haven’t answered me about where you were all weekend. I called you, Danny. A lot.”

“Uh, yes. I am very aware of that fact.”

“Well, so—“ and Steve's got one hand making 'continue on, please' gestures.

He doesn't know what to say. Looks at Steve, then quickly away because this isn't a conversation he thought he'd be having, and is feeling so wholly inadequately unprepared. "So."

"Danny. What the hell? Why didn’t you pick up? Why'd you tell Chin you weren't getting my calls? Why didn't--"

He holds his hands up to stop the onslaught, his words clipped and sharp and he punctuates each word with a raised finger. "Why. Do. You. Think?"

Steve's eyebrows shoot to the moon. "Don't know."

"You don't know," he repeats flatly.

"S' what I said. Don't know, don't have a clue. Can't fathom--"

Okay, so now he's just back to feeling angry. "How about--I saw you with Catherine."

"What? When--"

"Oh, I don’t know, Steven, pick any time this weekend, I presume."

"Danny. I don't know what you're talking about, and you--"

"No. No, babe. See, I saw you. I saw you both with--with arms wrapped and lips locked and--there was champagne--"

His words trail off because he can't say the rest of it, and there's silence weighing so heavily he thinks he may be having a coronary from the unseen pressure. God, his heart hurts.

Steve shakes his head, looking anywhere but at him, it seems.

The silence is too much, and wretchedly painful.

Then Steve begins to say something, drops it, then starts again. Danny's not at all sure he wants to hear.

"I've known Catherine for a long time, Danny."

Danny's now looking at the buildings whiz past his window. They're just a meld of bright colorful streaks with no discernible details.

"I'll always be there for her."

Now he turns back to Steve. "Yeah, yeah, yeah."

Steve's back to that steely look. Penetrating. "What is your problem?"

"Oh, I don't know," he begins and words are all coming up, roiling and charging just under the surface of his skin. He can feel them. "How 'bout you and all that bullshit you fed me--more togetherness, stay at my place, live with me--"

"You have a problem with me wanting to be together more with you?"

"I have a problem with threesomes, Steven."

"Threesomes?"

"Yeah. You, me and your love for Lt. Rollins." And this is so not how he wants to say any of this. It's like the hurt and anger are so jumbled together that he can't keep them contained. "I honestly don't think your house is big enough for all of us."

The car swerves as Steve makes the next turn, and he fights to get it back on track as he bellows, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I heard you, I saw you, and I heard you tell her you love her."

Now Steve's looking at him, and Danny points to the road. "Watch the--just--"

His arm falls into his lap and he feels deflated, and tired. Exhausted.

"Danny. I'll always love Catherine--"

He holds a hand up, but doesn't look at Steve. "Please, stop. I've already gotten the message--"

"Message? What message? The only messages have been the ones I've been leaving you all weekend that you haven't answered!"

Vomiting right now would be a very bad thing. But he so feels like he might and he squeezes out, "I really don't want to hear how you love her."

Silence again. This is just ugly. Wonders if HPD will give him his old position back if he begs nicely.

"Danny, let me ask you something. Are you in love with Rachel?"

"Rachel--what? No. We're only just now on decent speaking terms--"

Steve's waving a hand around. "I know--but--" and now he's looking again at Danny while also driving. It's giving him a headache. "Okay. There are times when I think that if you had the chance to get back with her--"

"That is not--why are you even bringing this up?"

"Hear me out. If you thought you could, would you?''

"I--no. Why are you asking me this?"

"Because sometimes, Danny, I think that you're still in love with her."

Now he does have a headache, and rubs a hand over his eyes. "I don't--okay, you know? In a way, I'll always love her, yes. She was my wife; she's the mother of my child." He turns to Steve. "What the hell does that have to do with anything?''

"Well, Catherine and I--I guess, in a way, we'll always love each other, too."

Still staring at Steve. This is unbelievable. "Are you fucking kidding me? That is totally not the same thing!"

Why can't they just get to where they're going and be done with this? If he doesn't get out of the car soon, he's going to jump.

"It is. It is, Danny, the same thing. Yes, Catherine and I have come together over the years--we have moments. But Danny, I'm not--listen to me. I'm not _in_ love with her."

His voice is stuck. Words come out gravelly and without strength. "I saw you. I heard you."

"Danny. Jesus. I love you."

The guilt is now killing him. While these words should have him soaring, he's feeling the crushing weight of everything else bear down on him with a tremendous force. It's all he can do to utter Steve's name.

The car stops and Danny realizes they're in the parking lot of his apartment. "Steve, I--" he says again, stopping because he doesn't know what to say.

Steve's jaw is clenched so tightly Danny can see it from here. 

"So I'm asking you, Danny. Where were you?"

He'd like to think he has a good poker face, all bets to the contrary, though, is the better reality. It takes only a split-second look, and he feels his face flush.

Steve's hand smacks the steering wheel. "Jesus, Danny." He's looking anywhere but at him, and Danny wishes he could get in one of the other parked cars and drive off the island. 

"Listen, I thought--"

Steve cuts him off. "No, Danny, I'm pretty sure you didn't think. Because if you're telling me that you did think, and that you purposefully went to that guy's hotel to pick him up and fuck him, or let him fuck you, then I really don't have a clue as to what the hell we're doing together."

“I didn’t—we didn’t—“ Shit. “It was hand jobs and blow jobs and Christ, Steve, I didn’t let him, we didn’t do anything like—“ He takes a deep breath, trying to get some bearing and all of this sounds so inexcusable. Is inexcusable. "Jesus, I ended up talking about you--about us--most of the time anyway--"

Now Steve is pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well that's great. Really. You're telling me that instead of him fucking you, you just mentally fucked me over with him, then, is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

The phrase _hell in a hand basket_ comes to mind, and even that's an inadequate description of what's happening--and none of it going anywhere fast. Talk about a no-win situation. 

God, he just wants to this to go away.

Steve's back to staring out the windshield, fingers still gripped tightly to the steering wheel. It's probably a good thing they're not moving.

"Why'd you do it, Danny? Why'd you go with him?"

The sound of Steve's voice saying the unspoken words, _Why did you leave me_ reverberates inside his head, and Danny just feels sick. Sick and lost. "I didn't--I thought--" He takes a deep breath. "I saw you with her, Steve. Heard you. I thought you--you did tell her you loved her. Always. I heard you."

"God, Danny. Catherine got engaged. Okay? She was showing me her ring. Had brought her parents to Oahu to show them the island, we met up for breakfast. I was congratulating her."

Oh, God. He feels ill. "Steve, I'm--"

"Yeah." And there's finality there, like Steve's just given up on them as he breathes out the word. It's weighing so heavily in the air, Danny can taste it. Is choking on it.

"Steve--" He turns to Steve, but the man is still turned away as though something incredibly mesmerizing is happening out the side window.

Steve won't look at him, instead looks down at his hands as they're resting in his lap, and his next words are so soft and low Danny can barely hear them. “Get out.”

“Steven—“

"Get out."

"Wait, Steve, we--"

“Get. Out. Danny. Just go.”

Yeah, that he hears. Strong and cutting, and so he does, not bothering to mention that it’s his car Steve’s taking off in, or that it's the middle of a work day and they're nowhere near the office.

For a long second he stands outside, all the air in Oahu suddenly gone, evaporated, used up with none left for him to inhale. Can't catch a breath and he's sucking hard through his nose and mouth, panting, hyperventilating--

He doesn’t know where to go or what to do--

How is this happening? This isn't his life--this is someone else's life--

Opening the front door to his place takes twice as long; his hands are shaking, his eyes are blurry, he can’t figure the key and breathing is still an effort he's struggling with--

For a second he bends over, hands on his knees and trying to suck in oxygen. He's dizzy and lightheaded--Jesus Christ, he's going to pass out--

Swipes a hand over his eyes, finally turns the knob on the door and takes a step inside only to suddenly find a force at his back that hurdles him into his apartment. Hears the door slam behind them.

Hands wrap around his body, catching him and pulling back, saving him from taking a header into the wall, and he panics until he realizes it's Steve.

"What--" comes out more like a yelp and then he's thrown prone onto the bed, face slammed into the mattress with his nose all but buried in the still-rumpled blankets. "Get the hell--" he starts, moving to get up, but a knee presses into his lower back and a hand pushes against the back of his head and then he's really pressed hard into the covers.

Breathing is pretty damned difficult now. What the hell, is Steve actually trying to kill him?

The hand lets up fractionally, enough he sucks in a lungful of air and he lets out a loud and angry, "Fuck", on a sharp exhale.

Lips whisper by his ear, soft exhalations tickling the flesh there as Steve speaks while his body holds him imprisoned on the bed. "That's the idea." Fingers in his hair tighten, pulling his head backward. It's fucking painful, and he knows Steve knows this.

Which--okay. If this were under any other circumstances, yeah, this would be hot and he'd be all over the idea.

Given the past two days and the more recent, as in two minutes ago, conversation, then, no. This is not looking like a fun time. What the hell Steve is thinking is anyone's guess, and he is so sorry for everything that's happened--but he's not about to let him go all whacked out crazy on him--so what the fuck?

"McGarrett," he says and gets a truly Paleolithic era grunt in return which just pisses him off royally. "Get off me, you fucking Neanderthal."

Steve eases off a little, but doesn't let him up. "When I think of his hands on you--"

"Stop it," Danny interrupts. "Don’t think of that--"

Pressure again, Steve's blanketing him now. "How can I not? This is killing me. You're killing me, Danny."

Jesus. He tries to roll over, wishes his voice didn't sound as thready as it does. "No. Let me up, Steve."

Then Steve moves back some, and Danny turns supine, able to get a full measure of air now that he's on his back, and he lets himself breathe deeply a few seconds. His insides are melting along with his brain and he's trying to gain some measure of stability here, but he's fucked up. Fucked up so badly. "I'm sorry. I'm--"

Steve's mouth covers his, the man's hands grabbing and pinning his wrists up over his head while his tongue plunders deep, muffling his words with a bruising kiss. When they pull apart, Danny's mouth is sore, his wrists hurt, and his body is pulsing with adrenaline so intensely he's back to barely breathing.

"Steve," he whispers, "God. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Don't," Steve tells him, his hands tightening on Danny's wrists to a crushing point of pain. "Just shut up. I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear you. I don’t want to be reminded." He lets go, pushes himself to sitting, long legs still folded and settled on either side of Danny's body. He just stares down at him for a long few seconds. 

When Steve starts in on undoing his tie and yanking it free, Danny remains still, hands still in their placed position over his head. Lets Steve undress him any way he wants, and in a matter of a few scarily rough but efficient minutes, Danny is spread out in all his glory.

It's hard for him to keep quiet, but every time he's starts to speak, Steve's clamps his hand over his mouth. "I told you to shut up."

Steve is still clothed, and Danny reaches up to touch only to have his hand slapped back down. 

"Leave it there," Steve instructs, adding, "Don't move an inch. Don't say anything. Don't touch anything. Just do nothing."

At this point, Danny finds there's nothing that this man can ask of him that he won't do--so he doesn't move a muscle.

Just watches. 

Steve slips his own overshirt from his arms, rising up on his knees again, braced as he then stretches to peel off the dark blue t-shirt underneath and toss it aside.

His eyes meet Danny's, and once again Danny is left breathless.

Steve's large hand then palms over his own crotch, lingering in position while he obviously plays with himself through his pants. His hips are canted forward, back arched, and his eyes close as he persists and Danny can clearly see the outline of his erection as it's straining against the cotton button fly. Steve's other hand is doing a slow rub across his chest, fingers lightly playing over his nipples, and Danny's eyes follow those arms up, mesmerized by the stretch and pull of the tattoos on Steve's shoulders. 

Danny's about to explode with want.

He can't help himself, wants to touch Steve everywhere, look everywhere, and reaches up a hand to trail a finger along the hard plane of skin being presented, only to have it batted away again. 

"No," Steve says sharply.

So Danny takes himself in hand instead, his own dick growing harder by the second as he watches the display towering over him, but Steve pulls his hand away from there as well. 

"Leave it, Danny." Which is so unfair, and he's not exactly sure what Steve is doing. Punishing him, yes, that's a given--and rightly so. Just, he's worried about how this is going to end.

Right now, it's so incredibly erotic with him naked and half-trapped by Steve, not allowed to do anything but watch while Steve is slowly undoing the buttons of his cargo pants.

The last button is undone and it's a second before Steve's thick cock springs free, Steve pushing down his pants and Calvin Kleins until everything is on display: up-close and personal. "God, Steve," Danny hisses, shifting, wanting to touch something--Steve, himself--wanting so badly he can't take it--

"No touching," Steve again tells him, going back to closing his eyes as one hand wraps his own erection while the other slides under to fondle his balls.

Danny has never made a noise like this in his life--

And Steve smiles at the noise--eyes hooded and passion-filled, tongue trailing a slow path over his bottom lip as he now gazes down at Danny.

Meeting his eyes, Danny can hardly stand it. Can't stand it. "Steven, Jesus. Please--"

But Steve continues caressing his own body, soft pants breaking the otherwise silent room, those timed perfectly with the slow rocking of hips that his body has begun.

Danny's cock is waving in the wind, desperately seeking contact with something, anything-- "I can't--Steve, I can't--" and he again moves to take himself in hand--

Finds Steve's hand like a vice wrapping around his wrist, pulling it away hard, fingers digging into his arm, while Steve's other hand remains working his own stiff cock with a determined grace. Danny doesn't think he's ever been this hard in his entire life.

Steve suddenly shifts forward, hovers mere inches over him, one hand braced on the bed, and the other gripping Danny's jaw. "I'm going to fuck you, Danny."

Steve then lets go, nods toward the bedside table and Danny gets the message and rolls over for their stash, handing over a condom and glide. Steve doesn't allow him to roll back, so now he's back to prone position, face down with one leg bent to relieve the pressure on his erection while Steve works him open.

It's not tender, nor drawn out in the way they have fucked before, but it is almost exquisite in its brusqueness. Danny rocks back, pushes up to all fours, his head dropping low and he's already gripping the blankets underneath his hands. This, this man is who he wants. Always.

He feels Steve remove his fingers, then there's tremendous pressure and he tries to relax against it, feels his body tighten up anyway--

"Relax, babe," Steve tells him with a light stroke down his back, and Danny focuses on that unexpected term of endearment as he does try to relax, and then Steve's in him, slowly at first, but relentless as he presses all the way inside.

He doesn't move for the longest time, and Danny can't take it, just blurts out, "Move," like his life depends on it.

"Hold on," Steve says, keeping still for a few agonizing beats, then begins a slow rock. So slow, it's maddening. Danny needs and wants so much more.

They pick up, finding the rhythm that's becoming familiar between them, and Danny knows no one else will ever be able to take him apart this way: physically and mentally. Just as he's about to grasp his own achingly hard dick, Steve's hand finds it and gives a firm squeeze. 

He moans, feeling his insides unravel as sensation fills him everywhere. Steve is then pulling him up hard against him, until he's leaning back onto Steve's chest--skin adhering to skin.

He reaches a hand back and around Steve's head, fingers finding and threading a grip into the short hair there, his own body now arched and neck long--nothing feels this good. Nothing.

Steve's softly calling his name, he can feel it as well as hear it, and he threads his tongue over his own lips, gasping then as Steve slides teeth down along his earlobe.

"Steve," he says, no other words there; he's speechless, and it's a good thing.

Hips are pushing behind him, into him, Steve's rhythm speeding up and the hand on his cock moves with it, and then all movement ceases, as if they're frozen on the spot--the hand on his dick squeezes, then stills with a firm grip, he hears the long, deep moan, feels the drawn out shudder behind him as Steve lets go.

"God, Danny," Steve breathes into his ear, then bites down hard onto his shoulder.

It takes but that and a small twitch of the fingers wrapping him to make him come, and then he's pouring himself into Steve's hand.

They land hard on the bed, dropping forward and pooled together in a sweaty heap, limbs intertwined and neither moving for several beats.

"God. I'm such a dumb ass," Danny whispers, trying to shift out from under.

"Yes, you are." No hesitation there.

"But?" With a half turn, he looks askance at Steve.

Who has that smirk on his face--the one that drives Danny nuts. "But what?"

He rolls his eyes at Steve. "But you're supposed to say, 'Yeah, Danny, but you're my dumb ass.'"

"Huh."

Danny gives Steve a frown.

"Okay, the thing is, Danny. What if I don’t want to be with an dumb ass?" He rolls to his side, away from Danny, slipping off the bed and heading into the bathroom.

Danny props himself up on his elbows. His frown intensifies. Is Steve kidding? After what they just did? "Wait, where are you going?"

The water runs in the sink, and then Steve is leaning against the bathroom door, wiping his hands on a hand towel. A flashback of Hunter hits Danny hard, and a wave of pain flows through him.

"I don't know," Steve says, tossing the towel back into the bathroom. "Thought maybe I'd head out. Look around. Maybe go to a bar, see what the tourists are up to."

He so deserves all of this, and he knows it. Shifts up to lean against the sofabed cushions and flips open the blankets in silent invitation. "Okay. Okay," he tells Steve. "I get it. I do."

"Thought you might. You're perceptive that way."

Danny watches him still standing there. "Babe, I can't even begin to--"

"Don't." Steve turns back into the bathroom, comes out a second later to stand by the bed, staring down at Danny. "We'll talk later about everything you're going to do to make this up to me over our lifetimes."

"Lifetimes. As in 'for all eternity' kind of make-up lifetime thing?"

"Yep."

"Okay," he says, pulling Steve down to him and sliding over as Steve slips between the sheets. "So what you're really saying is that we're going to be together for our lifetimes. For all eternity."

A shadow of a grin flits across Steve’s face, and he lays his head against Danny’s chest. "Or just as long as your lifetime, which is looking to be pretty short these days. No pun intended."

Danny pauses, arms wrapping around Steve with his fingers threading lightly through his hair. If this is what second chances feel like, he’ll have no problem trying to make this all up to Steve over the course of their life together. "Short jokes—you’re resorting to short jokes. Now who's being a dumb ass?"

Steve smiles against his chest. "Guess we're a matched set then."  
And Danny smiles back.

End.


End file.
